


Running Hot

by Mellorine



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: light petplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:40:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3610443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellorine/pseuds/Mellorine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s an open secret that racer frames run hot. They build up charge faster, and while racer frame kink has always been a popular one, a wise mech won’t bring it up to a racer’s face unless they want a pede up the aft. Of course, despite what the pornography scene would have you think, racer frames can easily dispel charge in a variety of ways: racing, obviously, but also sparring, video games, sports, and, for the spiritually-minded, meditation.</p>
<p>And none of this is helpful  in the slightest when you’re holed up in your bar while bands of Decepticons riot through the streets of Iacon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running Hot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MoyaKite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoyaKite/gifts).



> Doubly inspired by the [Tips For Ruining Your Business](http://archiveofourown.org/series/172328) series and the [Buy](http://archiveofourown.org/series/74863) series (which feels a little like saying the worm was inspired to crawl by the graceful movements of the gazelle).
> 
> Takes place circa RID #13.

It’s an open secret that racer frames run hot. They build up charge faster, and while racer frame kink has always been a popular one, a wise mech won’t bring it up to a racer’s face unless they want a pede up the aft. Of course, despite what the pornography scene would have you think, racer frames can easily dispel charge in a variety of ways: racing, obviously, but also sparring, video games, sports, and, for the spiritually-minded, meditation.

And none of this is helpful  in the slightest when you’re holed up in your bar while bands of Decepticons riot through the streets of Iacon.

Blurr is stripping down his blaster and putting it back together for the seventh time when Swindle finally finishes pulling guns out of his subspace and joins him at the bar.

“Nervous?” he asks after a moment of watching Blurr’s hands flash over the components.

Blurr shakes his head. “Bored. All this hurry up and wait, you know? Not that I want anyone to start ransacking the place, I-put-a-lot-of-hard-work-into-here-and-I’d-rather-not-see-it-all-fragged-up-I-mean-where-else-are-people-gonna-go-where-they-can-forget-about-Starscream-and-all-this-’Bots-versus-Cons-slag-when-the-war’s-supposed-to-be-over-but-everyone-keeps-sniping-at-each-other-anyway-you-know-what-I-mean?”

“Right.” Swindle looks around. It’s an odd scene: Decepticons, Autobots and NAILs, compulsively checking the defenses in between knocking back shots, but there’s something about it that’s, despite what’s raging on outside the door, strangely relaxing. A calm-before-the-storm feeling, perhaps, but a calm nonetheless.

Except for the ball of wire-tight tension systematically taking apart his gun for the eighth time. Swindle rolls his optics. “Calm down,” he says, and, _almost_ instinctively, reaches out and bops Blurr on the helm.

Blurr’s EM field twinges, and Swindle freezes, thinking he’s made a terrible, _stupid_ , mistake. “Sorry,” he starts to say, and Blurr faceplants onto the bar, pushing into Swindle’s servo.

“Um.” Swindle nervously looks around but everyone else in the bar seems preoccupied. He moves his servo tentatively along Blurr’s helmfins.

Blurr hums, his shoulder wheels spinning lazily, and his EM field brushes against Swindle’s in shy greeting.

Swindle nudges back, not quite sure of the bartender’s intentions. Is he going to snap out of this, furious at the Decepticon for touching him? Swindle isn’t a gambling mech, but the way Blurr shifts his helm, wordlessly letting him know where he wants to be stroked, and the feel of the racer’s EM field languidly washing against his own, makes him hope that this won’t come to a rough end.

“Maybe I should be charging for his service,” he jokes, trying to lighten the tension he hopes only he feels.

“Mmm.” Blurr reaches down blindly and sets a cube of engex in front of Swindle.

Swindle bites back a smile and takes a small sip. He wants to make it last.


End file.
